


purple like the bruises on your skin

by rovio



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidents, Blood and Injury, Extra Treat, First Kiss, Future Fic, Galra Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Impalement, M/M, Not Season/Series 08 Compliant, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rovio/pseuds/rovio
Summary: Shiro wipes blood from his eyes and hauls himself up from the floor, using the pilot's seat as a support. At least it's still in one piece which is more than he can say about himself or the console in front of him. The lights are flickering and there's smoke coming from somewhere. Those are minor things compared to the crack on the window and Shiro's blood runs cold when he sees it.They need to get the hell out of here.That would, of course, be a lot easier if Keith wasn't hurt.





	purple like the bruises on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Soulstoned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulstoned/gifts).

Shiro wipes blood from his eyes and hauls himself up from the floor, using the pilot's seat as a support. At least it's still in one piece which is more than he can say about himself or the console in front of him. The lights are flickering and there's smoke coming from somewhere. Those are minor things compared to the crack on the window, and Shiro's blood runs cold when he sees it.

The glass was strong, of course, but the asteroid that hit them out of the blue was obviously harder. They need to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

Fingers flying on the console, Shiro prays that he can get the video feed working. Anything to tell him where Keith is, where Shiro has to head out to. It's not a big ship, but it's big enough that aimless wandering will lose him time they don't have.

A flash of light startles him even though it really shouldn't have. Shiro's reaching out before he's even turned around. His hand touches blue fur and he starts with, "Keith-", and suddenly the world is a vortex of black and blinding white.

A second later he's in the hallway leading to a small kitchen, hanging on to Kosmo's fur and smelling like sulfur. Kosmo whines into his ear and Shiro lets go, staggering and trying to stay on his feet. He doesn't spot Keith at first because there's so much going on, smoke and rubble and crackling sparks Shiro fervently hopes won't set anything on fire .

Then his world narrows down into something he wishes he could unsee. He stumbles forward, horrified, and this time Keith's name tears out of his throat in a shout.

Keith turns his head and at least he's alive, Shiro thinks, at least he's alive, thank god, because for a moment Shiro was sure they were both going to die here. Keith pinned to the wall like butterfly in a specimen box, at least four feet of a steel rod sticking out of him, and Shiro at his feet because he wouldn't have left without Keith.

"Shiro," Keith says, voice rough and scratches and bruises coloring his beautiful face. "What happened?"

"An asteroid, I didn't- _Keith_."

Shiro is almost sure that the rod is from the collapsed ceiling. How it ended up impaling Keith is a mystery he doesn't give a shit about because the rod is thick and gleams wet with blood. _Keith's blood_, a clinical voice in Shiro's mind points out. He hates that voice. He doesn't dare to touch anything, not the rod and certainly not Keith.

The ship shudders and Keith groans, hands flying from his sides to grab the rod and hold it in place. Pain twists his face and Shiro really wants to throw up.

"Need to get this out," Keith pants when the ship is still again. "You got a sword in that new arm?"

Shiro glances to his right. It's a good arm. It's sleek and in proportion, undoubtedly human-looking, attached to his body and shining chrome and blue. He'd been so happy when Pidge presented him the design. He'd also stubbornly refused to have it weaponized.

"No." Shiro looks around and then at Keith, gaze dropping down to his waist. "Where's yours?"

Keith nods at the smoking pile of ceiling and walls on his right. "Under that. Probably."

When it rains, it fucking pours.

"I'll look for it. Keith, I-" There's a thousand things Shiro wants to say. There's a thousand things he planned to say on this trip now that he finally feels whole and himself enough.

"No," Keith interrupts him. He meets Shiro's eyes resolutely. "Say it later. We're not dying here."

Leaning over to kiss him is impossible and he's right. Shiro squares his shoulders. Later. Right now he has a job to do. He has to find the knife and then he has to cut the rod, and then he has to find a doctor who's skilled enough to take it safely out.

"Kosmo!" The wolf limps closer from where'd he'd been circling them nervously. What Shiro wants is to leave him with Keith so that Keith isn't alone. He rarely gets what he wants. "Help me find Keith's sword."

Kosmo is on the pile of rubble in a flash, digging into it, and Shiro's never been more grateful that Keith found him.

"Keith-"

"Go," Keith says. There's blood on his lips and the purple bruises on his face are spreading. He looks as steady as a mountain despite the metal in his guts. "I'm not- Not going anywhere."

"Stop stealing my stupid jokes," Shiro says helplessly and turns around, sprinting to Kosmo.

He knows he should be more careful when he digs through the mess. The gloves he's wearing are sturdy, but the rubble is full of metal and wires and shit that could cut his fingers off as cleanly as Hunk takes apart a chicken. Shiro saw that once, impressed, and Hunk explicitly forbade him from trying the same without supervision because Shiro did want to keep his left arm, right?

He stifles a hysterical laughter into his shoulder and rubs his forehead onto it to swipe off sweat and blood. Headwounds always bleed a lot, but Keith hadn't said anything about that. Either he saw the wound and dismissed it as too small to get worried about, or he's hurting so badly that for once in his life, he prioritized himself over Shiro's hurt.

The thought makes Shiro redouble his desperate efforts to throw the rubble aside, and then Kosmo barks on his left, nosing his own part of the pile. Shiro scrambles over on all fours until he sees what Kosmo does, a glimmer under the rubble. A hilt of a knife, glowing because, Shiro thinks, Keith is still alive, he's not dead. He _won't_ be.

Between Shiro's own two hands and Kosmo's four paws and considerable strength, it's quick work to dig it out. The knife doesn't dim when Shiro picks it up. It's heavier than it looks and belies how easily Keith handles it with a flick of a wrist.

Kosmo is at Keith's side faster than Shiro is, but he's not far behind. Despite the glowing knife, his heart almost stops at the sight of Keith's drooping head. His hair is hanging like a curtain around his face, and it's only because he's still clutching the steel rod that Shiro knows through his panic that he's not dead.

"Keith!"

Keith stirs and lifts his head slowly, and Shiro stops in his tracks, jaw dropping.

"Thought you got lost." Keith attempts to grin. His teeth are bloody, but that's barely a footnote on whatever else is going on with him. "Sorry about this."

Shiro remembers the eyes, this precise shade of yellow he saw so briefly at the clone factory. Mostly he remembers them from his nightmares where they lose their light as he thrusts his arm through Keith's chest.

Shiro shakes his head. That didn't happen. That won't happen, and what the hell is Keith sorry for?

"Meant to tell you before we left," Keith says like he's reading Shiro's mind. "Didn't know how to. There's no guidebook for telling your friends you're turning into a Galra."

"I already knew you're a Galra," Shiro points out. He thought the bruises were spreading, but they're not. It's Keith's skin changing color into a shade somewhere between Krolia's purple and Lotor's lavender. It's beautiful. It's also not important right now. "This doesn't- We can talk later. I got your knife. How do you want to do this?"

The ship's alarms go finally off like a shot and they both grimace. Keith's half-shouting when he says, "Just cut it. As close to my body as you can."

Shiro looks at the rod. He has to touch it too, a thing which is red with Keith's blood, and it's going to hurt Keith. But it'll be worse if he doesn't, so he takes a breath and shoves his emotions away into a place where they aren't in the way.

_The rod is sticky_, he observes as he curls his fingers around it and adjusts his hold to compensate. "Ready when you are."

"Do it," Keith says and lets go of the rod.

The luxite knife cuts through steel like butter and Shiro throws the rod aside. Keith jerks on his feet, twitching forward before he forces himself to stand still. He's sweating as much as Shiro is, and Shiro reaches out to swipe his shaking hand across Keith's forehead and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Your ears are getting pointy."

"Yeah, they do that," Keith says through gritted teeth. Then he looks down and swallows. "Nice work."

There's maybe an inch of the rod left, sticking out of his tattered clothes like some kind of an unholy body modification. It makes Shiro sick to look at it and he locks that feeling away too.

"I'll do the other side when you're ready."

Keith licks his lips and meets Shiro's eyes with his yellow ones. They're not strange at all, and that should probably be strange. The hands that touch Shiro's shoulders try to grasp at the hard armor there, and then they slide down to grip his biceps instead.

"The thing about the Galra is," Keith says and takes a deep breath. He holds Shiro's attention like nothing else in the universe can. "We heal fast."

The words have barely registered in Shiro's brain before Keith steps forward. He takes one step after another and Shiro _knows_ he's imagining it, but he could swear that he hears the stomach-turning squelch as the steel rod slides through Keith's body again.

Keith collapses into his arms, panting like he's just ran a marathon, and they both fall down onto their knees. Shiro has the presence of mind to keep a hold of the knife. Barely. His first instinct is to throw it away and press both of his hands against Keith's back where he's bleeding out. Hot blood gushes between Shiro's fingers in a never-ending stream, and he can only hope that Keith has the other side of it and himself covered.

"Keith! Keith, can you hear me?"

"Yes." The pained sound is a mix of a hiss and a moan, and Keith trembles in Shiro's arms. As if on cue, the ship lets out a terrible groan and shudders around them too. "_Go_ now."

Shiro doesn't need to call for Kosmo. He's suddenly there, curling around them and when Shiro shouts "Escape pod!", the world swirls around him again.

They crash onto the floor and for a second Shiro is afraid that he lost his hold on Keith. He tosses the knife away and pulls Keith closer, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Keith's undersuit is slick with it and when Shiro's fingers brush the wound, he almost loses it. They both do and Keith does shout, finally, a pained sound that echoes in the confines of the small pod.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Shiro repeats like a mantra that doesn't change anything for the better. "Keith, _please_."

Keith stutters out, "Not. Dying," and if there's anyone Shiro takes on their word regarding death, it's Keith. He's fought it for Shiro's sake often enough and won every damn time. This time he might need a little help.

"I have to let go," Shiro says into Keith's matted hair. He doesn't want to, but he has to. "We need to get away from here."

He looks around for anything within a touching distance, anything at all that would put pressure on the wound while he's gone, but there's nothing.

Except no, there is.

"Kosmo!"

The wolf is standing above them, shifting restlessly, and Shiro sees for the first time that he really is hurt too. Something got him on a hind leg and it's oozing oily, almost black blood. But it's bleeding less than Keith's wound is, and that's what matters here. Shiro really hopes that Kosmo is as smart as they've always thought he is.

"Can you get closer? You need to help Keith."

Putting a dirty paw on an open wound is nowhere near the realm of hygienic things, but it's the only thing they have.

"Keith, you have to lie down now." The groan is maybe a yes, and Keith doesn't struggle when Shiro helps him gently down.

Keith curls around himself immediately, hands over his stomach like his holding his guts in with them. The bruises on his face are still there, but they're harder to see now that his skin tone is catching up to them. His eyes are closed and his mouth is thin line when Shiro leans over him.

It's clumsy work to direct Kosmo through no fault of his. A wolf's joints don't work like a human's do, so Shiro has to use precious seconds to figure out how to get one massive paw to where it needs to be. Then he uses a few seconds more to convince himself to let go of Keith and trust in Kosmo.

Keith groans again as the pressure on his back shifts, and Kosmo whines like a lost puppy. The seconds Shiro uses to kiss Keith's temple and pet Kosmo's head aren't wasted at all, and then he's stumbling towards the console on the wall.

He made sure everything was in top shape when he bought the ship a few short weeks ago, including the escape pod meant for four people, or two people and one space wolf. He didn't think he'd need it this fast. The console lights up under his palm and the pod takes off. The further away they get from the ship, the better.

At least Shiro doesn't have to worry about the emergency signal. It broadcasted the second the pod took off and with any luck, someone will catch it soon. Shiro just hopes it's an ally who gets to them first instead of the space pirates.

The explosion behind them shakes the whole pod and lights up the small windows. Behind Shiro, both Keith and Kosmo cry out.

Shiro spins around and he _knows_ this will be a new source of nightmares. Keith, lying in a pool of his own blood. A hellish beast breathing on his neck and holding him down with a huge paw. Kosmo doesn't deserve any of the rage and fear that course through Shiro at the sight. He's so glad that he doesn't have a weapon at hand.

Shiro grabs the first-aid kit and shakes his head to clear it. The blood that sprays from his hair to the walls and drips onto the floor is nothing compared to the red lake spreading under his knees. Shiro tears his gloves off and touches Keith's cheek. He can't tell if this shade of purple is its normal color or an unhealthy pallor, but the skin is definitely too cold and clammy.

"Keith!"

Keith's eyes open just enough for Shiro to see a sliver of yellow. "Still alive."

If Shiro wasn't already on his knees, he knows he'd drop onto them from sheer relief. "We're safe." More or less, anyway. "I'll stitch you up now."

"No." Keith shakes his head a little and coughs. There's fresh blood on his lips when he stops and draws in a ragged breath. He repeats, "No. It's healing already. Don't mess with it."

Shiro looks up and meets another pair of alien eyes. He's not sure how much Kosmo understood of that, but they both look down at the paw on Keith's back. The blood flow is only a trickle now, but it could be just Kosmo's weight doing that. There's no way to know unless they take a look.

Despite Keith's words, Shiro lays out a needle, a thread and a variety of bottles he's almost sure are disinfectants. He knows Keith is following his every movement even if he doesn't say anything. Telling Shiro to stop would be pointless so it's just as well that he saves his strength.

"Okay," he says finally, hand hovering near Kosmo's paw. "Let's see it."

Kosmo whines low in his throat and Shiro can feel his reluctance in his own bones too. When Kosmo lifts his paw, the fur is soaked with blood and the coppery smell of it is overwhelming. Shiro tries to ignore it and concentrate on the torn undersuit Keith is wearing.

He cuts the bloody cloth with scissors and peels it off Keith's back. Then he stares, astonished. What should be a gaping wound is a wound, yes, but it's barely bleeding anymore and the skin is knitting itself together in front of Shiro's eyes. The purple shade is spreading all over Keith's back like a drop of color in a bowl of water, and the scar tissue is accumulating at a speed Shiro has never seen before.

It's nothing short of a miracle.

"Told you," Keith says quietly.

He grunts in pain but doesn't protest when Shiro manhandles him to see the front, too. It's the same there. Under the blood and dirt is healing purple skin, and Shiro touches it reverently. Keith flinches and Shiro draws his fingers back quickly.

"Sorry."

Keith shakes his head and coughs again. "Still hurts. Like someone's got a hand in my guts and is messing around with them."

Shiro's medical knowledge is limited to Garrison's courses and patching himself up in emergencies. It's not a lot to go by, but it's something at least. He can't do anything about the wound now that's closing itself up, and whatever might be wrong inside Keith is something Shiro knows he couldn't help with anyway.

"I don't know what to do," he says helplessly. At least Keith is breathing properly and when Shiro puts his fingertips on a pulse point, the heartbeat is as strong as ever. "Can I help you?"

"No." Keith squeezes his eyes shut and grabs a hold of Shiro's sleeve. His knuckles are as white as bone. "The wolf. He's hurt."

Shiro is certain that Kosmo doesn't give a fuck about his leg as long as Keith is hurt. The escape pod is too small for someone of his size to pace around and he's sitting still next to Keith, looking like you'd need the mother of all crowbars to move him from his place.

"I think he's fine."

"His leg," Keith insist because of course he would. "Help him."

Which is how Shiro ends up stitching the bleeding wound on Kosmo's hind leg under Keith's watchful eyes. He's not sure who's more surprised by it, him or the wolf, though he supposes they both should've seen it coming.

It's a shoddy job because Shiro isn't that good at sewing anything and he's keeping one eye on Keith while he works The stitches are uneven and Kosmo whines when the needle goes in too deep, but his gaze never leaves Keith either. It makes Shiro feel better. If he misses something, any tiny telltale that Keith's condition is worsening, Kosmo will notice it.

"Good boy," Shiro says at last and reaches up to ruffle Kosmo's fur. The fluff of it is sticky and spiked with blood that isn't his. "Well done."

"He is a good boy," Keith agrees.

He's using the first-aid kit as a pillow at Shiro's insistence, and Shiro is determinedly not thinking about the fact that they're all covered in Keith's blood and still sitting in the drying pool of it.

Keith adds, "You both are," and manages to smile a little.

He feels warmer now and the purple of his skin is evening out, at least on the places Shiro can see. The tremors that wreck Keith's body in intermittent waves are worrying, but at least he doesn't cough up blood anymore. Shiro squeezes his hand.

Then he realizes that Keith is staring at their joined hands with an exhausted frown on his face.

"What?"

"Doesn't it bother you?" Keith squeezes back weakly. "That I'm like this."

Many things about him bother Shiro right now starting from the internal damage that can't possibly have healed yet and the gnawing worry that he'll take a turn for the worse, but that's not what he's asking. Shiro gets that.

"No."

He doesn't even think about it. He just bends down and kisses the back of Keith's hand, and _then_ his brains catch up and he blushes. Well, he thinks, that doesn't matter either. It's later now. When Shiro looks up, the yellow eyes are wide and startled.

Shiro is completely, perfectly honest when he says, "You being a Galra has never bothered me. You could look like Kolivan and I'd still love you."

The laughter that bursts out of Keith's mouth is sudden and short, and he ends up gasping for breath, face twisted in pain. "Don't make me laugh. Hurts."

"Sorry," Shiro says, and he means it. "It's still true."

Keith tugs at his hand until he gets the hint and lays down too, facing Keith and sharing his makeshift pillow. Kosmo settles down behind Keith's back and Shiro is grateful for that. Between the two of them, Keith is as safe and warm as he possibly can be here.

The hand in Shiro's clenches hard when Keith's body jerks and a pained sound escapes his lips. It doesn't last long but at the same time, in Shiro's mind, it's an eternity before Keith's face smoothes out again.

"I don't think I can turn back," he admits finally. "Not anymore. That's why it still hurts. Everything in me is changing."

It breaks Shiro's heart a little to hear the defeated tone. Like it's Keith's fault, like it _matters_.

Then Keith adds, "Sorry if I'll end up looking like Kolivan," and Shiro snorts despite himself.

"It's okay. He's pretty handsome for a Galra."

"Always knew you were into aliens," Keith says with a sigh. "Lucky me."

Shiro opens his mouth to reply, but he's cut off by a crackle of electronics and a familiar voice booming from the speakers. "Escape pod, this is the Altean starship Castle Anew. Can you hear me? Shiro? Keith?"

Shiro has never been more grateful to hear Allura's voice. When he gets up to answer the call, it's only after a gentle kiss that is, objectively, the grossest and bloodiest he's ever been given.

It's also the best.


End file.
